


Fenders Alphabet

by twipen



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alphabet, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twipen/pseuds/twipen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is stubborn and Anders is sarcastic. Two men tentatively dancing around each other through an alphabet soup of adventures.<br/>Follows the plot mostly. Eventual Fenders. Some M!Hawke/Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Abomination (and not Anders)

The dirty depths of darktown was where he first saw him.

The _mage_.

Hawke, this strange new fellow, needed Deep Roads maps, and this filthy _mage_ was the Warden for the job, apparently. Fenris grimaced at the thought of needing anything from a _mage_. But Hawke needed him.

And he needed them, apparently. Typical mages, always wanting _something_ , needing _more_.

Fenris scoffed and recognized the irony of escaping a city of mages only to be living among them again.

But never-the-less, he followed Hawke to the Chantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot Order: 1/26


	2. B is for Bravery and Belligerence

He knew this was a stupid idea.  
  
He knew this was a stupid idea and he could end up dead for it.  
  
 **BUT IT’S THE RIGHT THING TO DO**  
  
He didn’t need Justice to tell him that. He knew that the elf could die or at very least lose his leg if Anders didn’t help him, but Anders could lose one of his vital organs if he did. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he also knew it was dangerous. He knew he was a healer (and healers generally dealt with these things), but he also knew he liked living.  
  
He didn’t need Justice to tell him what he would do. He already knew.  
  
The foyer was just as dank and rotting as he remembered it being. He made sure to kick broken tiles and stomp up the stairs; a surprised ex-slave-and-lyrium-warrior did no one (particularly Anders’ insides) any good.  
  
After a few knocks, kicks, and “Fenris-if-you-don’t-let-me-in-you’ll-probably-die”s, the lock clicked and the door creaked open just enough to Anders to see the elf’s face.  
  
“Leave, mage. I don’t need your help.” Anders knew this dance. This was the mage-hater's defense. Decline his help; make it clear you don't _need_ him. It was a dance that Anders knew well.  
  
"You could lose your leg, you know. Is that what you want?" For once the elf did not retort. Anders took that as a good sign.  
  
By the time Anders had finished healing the surly elf, Fenris had relaxed and was drifting slowly into sleep. Anders huffed tiredly and went to gather his supplies.  
  
“There you go,” he said, mostly to himself. “You’re good as new.”  
  
And if he had not stumbled on his way out; if he had not crashed into the door frame and grasped it for support, he would have heard the elf mumble.  
  
“Perhaps I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot Order: 13/26


	3. C is for Cats

The first time Fenris found himself at the door to the mage’s clinic he almost stepped on a small bowl filled with a white liquid. He picked the small, ceramic dish up and took it inside.  
  
The mage looked up from his desk when Fenris entered, and Fenris watched his expression shift from shock to suspicion and finally settle on pleasant neutrality.  
  
“Fenris,” the mage greeted, standing from his desk. “Is there something I can do for you?”  
  
“I found this outside,” Fenris answered lamely, holding up the ceramic dish.  
  
“Ah, yes,” Anders said, still a little confused. “It’s for the cats.”  
  
“Cats?”  
  
“Yes.” Anders moved forward to take the dish from Fenris. “It’s milk for the strays, any strays that are left, that is.”  
  
“You feed strays?” It was Fenris’ turn to be confused.  
  
“Yes, Maker knows the poor things can’t find enough food on their own down here.” Anders sighed. “I also miss having a cat around. I had a cat once, Ser Pounce-a-Lot. The Wardens--”  
  
“Made you give him away,” Fenris interjected. “I remember.”  
  
Anders looked back at him, surprised, then smiled. Fenris found himself flushing as the mage turned away to place the dish on a counter.  
  
“Cats have always been my favorite,” Anders said after a moment. “So independant, untrusting.” He glanced sidelong at Fenris, the elf looked away.  
  
“Cats don’t _need_ you; cats don’t need anybody.” Anders continued when Fenris said nothing. “Gaining the trust of a cat is no easy venture, but losing it can be as simple as walking. I find that those who have the trust and companionship of a cat are among those most trustworthy. And most lucky.”  
  
Anders looked at him for a long moment and Fenris pretended he did not notice. The mage opened his mouth as if to say something, but the clinic door was thrown open before he got the chance  
  
*  
  
The clinic was busy, and the mage was flitting between patients--a sickly elder man, a woman in labor, two small children, a young man, a dock worker--while a few volunteers crushed elfroot and wrapped bandages. Fenris stood awkwardly for a moment before wandering over to a volunteer and letting the young woman show him how to wrap the bandages.  
  
He so fell into the rhythm of wrapping bandages that he was startled when a hand landed on his shoulder nearly three hours later. He turned and came face to face with Anders, grinning wildly and covered in blood. His hands and arms, however, were clean.  
  
“I should not be surprised that you find mad joy in the spilling of blood,” Fenris said. It was not what he wanted to say.  
  
“Not in the spilling of blood,” Anders replied, taking no offense, “but in the beginning of a life.” He began stripping his soiled cloak and tunic. Fenris turned back to the bandages with a flush.  
  
“The woman, then.” Fenris said to the bandages. “The birth was successful?”  
  
“Both the mother and child are healthy.”  
  
Fenris could practically feel the pride in Anders’ voice; the mage must had played a huge role in keeping them both healthy.  
  
“Proud of your handiwork, then, are you?” Fenris couldn’t hold back the sniping comment. Anders appeared at his side in a relatively clean tunic and took the box of wrapped bandages from Fenris.  
  
“I suppose you could see it like that,” Anders mused. Fenris was almost sure the mage did not see it like that. “We travel with Hawke, and where Hawke goes, trouble follows and we end up, whether in self-defence or on moral grounds, being the tool that ends a life.” Anders hefted the box off the table and slid it into a repurposed bookcase. “And it feels good to, once in a while, be the tool that saves one.”  
  
And suddenly, Fenris thought he could understand.  
  
“These people trust me; someone like me.”  
  
He could understand while this mage spent all his time in the dank underbelly of a city laden with templars. He could understand why the mage healed these refugees and any others until he couldn’t stand.  
  
For once, Fenris could understand why this mage did what he did.  
  
And Fenris found he could admire him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot Order: 11/26


End file.
